Volumes that I prize above my dukedom
by What contented men desire
Summary: AU. Hermione is reading in the library. When Harry starts to join her, and Ron pulls away, will they follow suit? Or will they grow closer instead? HHr, minor Ron-bashing


Title attributed to William Shakespeare in _The Tempest_:

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me

From mine own library with volumes that

I prize above my Dukedom

Not a bit of this is mine. It is instead a response to Jayu's 'Reading in the Library' challenge over on Portkey, and most of it either belongs to J.K. Rowling or the late Sir Thomas Malory. Although I think Malory's copyright would have expired by now…

* * *

**Volumes that I prize above my Dukedom**

_It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against him long time. And the duke was called the duke of Tintagil. And so by means King Uther sent for this duke, charging him to bring his wife with him, for she was called a fair lady, and a passing wise, and her name was called Igraine._

And so it was that Hermione Granger, seventeen years old for another two weeks, began the one and only work of Sir Thomas Malory, _le Morte d'Arthur_. She had found the five hundred and sixty-one paged tome in the very back corner of the Hogwarts library and, as it was covered by a clear inch of dust, considered it a worthy pursuit for the year. This of course meant that she would be spending much of her free time in the library. She could still remember the reactions of her boys when she told them of her plans for the year. Ron had been teasing at first, or trying to be teasing as he made fun of her studiousness. Then he had passed through the realm of selfishness, wondering if it was anything he had done, finally ending up on overbearing as he considered it "his duty as a boyfriend to protect her against gits like Zabini" (who had never been implicated with the Death Eaters, believe it or not). This struck her as odd since he was not, and would never be, her boyfriend. Too… loutish.

Harry, on the other hand, had simply looked at her. The beautifully glittering emeralds he called eyes bored into her plain browns, and it made her feel as though he could strip away her physical presence and see her innermost thoughts and desires. It made her feel very secure, but also afraid that he really could see her thoughts. There were a fair few that he was never meant to find out about. In the end though, he just nodded. Once. No words were passed, and she found that none were necessary.

--

_When King Arthur had after long war rested, and held a royal feast and Table Round with his allies of kings, princes, and noble nights all of the Round Table, there came into the hall, he sitting in his throne royal, twelve ancient men, bearing each of them a branch of olive, in token that they came as ambassadors and messengers from the Emperor Lucius, which was called at that time, Dictator or Procurer of the Public Weal of Rome;_

It was November. The first eighty-nine chapters had been conquered in Hermione's days in the library. Ron had commented one evening, which was one of the few times she saw him and Harry, that she was probably spending altogether too much time within those four walls of bookcases. He argued that she could never really experience life if she spent all her time with her books. She countered that his idea of experiencing life, having sex every available minute of the day, did not appeal to her at all. He answered by pointing out that maybe she wouldn't think so if she was attractive enough to find someone willing to have sex with her. She punched him in the nose. Harry, who had stayed out of the argument up to this point, chose the exact same moment to do the exact same thing. Their fists brushed in mid-air, spreading a warmth down Hermione's arm that she didn't fully understand, and their combined strength effectively shattered their former friend's nose.

--

_Soon after that King Arthur was come from Romein to England, then all the knights of the Table Round resorted unto the king, and made many jousts and tournaments, and some there were that were but knights, which increased so in arms and worship that they passed all their fellows in prowess and noble deeds, and that was well proved on many; but in especial it was proved on Sir Lancelot du Lake, for in all tournaments and jousts and deeds of arms, both for life and death, he passed all other knights, and at no time he was overcome but if it were by treason of enchantment, so Sir Lancelot increased so marvellously in worship, and in honour, therefore he is the first knight that the French book maketh mention of after King Arthur came from Rome. Wherefore Queen Guenever had him in great favour above all other knights, and in certain he loved the queen again above all other ladies and damosels of his life, and for her he did many deeds of arms, and saved her from the fire through his noble chivalry. _

By the time December rolled around, Hermione had completed one-hundred and one chapters in total during her free time. She often mused to herself how fortunate she was to have any free time at all. NEWTs would be taking place in eight short months, and she had many classes to do assignments for. She did all of that too, in the library with her weighty tome on the table next to her, and it became so much that she began to miss meals. She was often too busy, or too engrossed in the exploits of King Arthur's knights, to pay attention to the clock, and Madame Pince had better things to do with her time than remind one girl to go eat. Harry solved the problem, as was his way. Late in September he had begun to smuggle plates of sandwiches into the library, disguised as old newspapers, textbooks, and the like to unwanted eyes. Madame Pince, Hermione reflected while enjoying a delicious mouthful of ham sandwich disguised as a two-year-old _Prophet_, would not have been very pleased with her for teaching Harry that spell.

--

_When Arthur held his Round Table most plenour, it fortuned that he commanded that the high feast of Pentecost should be holden at a site and a castle, the which in those days were called Kynke Kenadonne upon the sands that marched nigh Wales. So ever the king had a custom that at the feast of Pentecost in especial, afore other feasts of the year, he would not go that day to meat until he had heard or seen of a great marvel. And for that custom all manner of strange adventures came before Arthur at that feast before all other feasts. And so Sir Gawaine, a little tofore noon on the day of Pentecost, espied at a window three men upon horseback, and a dwarf on foot, and so the three men alit, and the dwarf kept their horses, and one of the three men was higher that the other twa in by a foot and a half. Then Sir Gawaine went unto the king and said, Sir, go to your meat, for here at the hand come strange adventures. So Arthur went unto his meat with many other kings. And there were all the knights of the Round Table only those that were prisoners or slain at a recounter. Then at the high feast evermore they should be fulfilled the whole number of an hundred and fifty, for then was the Round Table fully complished._

As Harry and Hermione rang in the New Year, after Hermione had completed another eighteen chapters over the previous month, the latter marvelled over the change in the former. Ever since the culmination, and ultimate end, of the war against Voldemort the previous summer, she had been catching glimpses of the boy she used to know; the playful, joking Harry she had come to know during their first three years. She didn't realise it at first, but once the old personality had finally conquered the new moody Harry she had been experiencing since the incident with the Goblet of Fire it became apparent how much she had missed the boy who would make her laugh. She had missed spending time with the Harry who wasn't worried about death, the Prophecy, and the war.

But now that Harry was back, and she couldn't help but feel uplifted when he entered the library to sit with her. He had been doing that a lot lately, and it felt like old times when they would do homework with Ron in front of the common room fire. The only difference was this time there was no Ron to spoil the friendly moment by asking to copy her work. Harry never did that, she noticed. Neither did he ask her to look over his, or ask if he could look over hers, or any other of the crude colloquialisms Ron had devised to trick her into doing his work for him.

The two teens rarely spoke, beyond the "hello" when the other would come in which was more of a reflex action then a conscious one. Each was content just to be in the other's company. Hermione found herself moving closer and closer to him each day that passed, instinctually. The days he didn't come to join her, which were few and far between, she lost all desire to do much of anything. She didn't recognize it right then, but she was beginning to depend on him.

--

_It was a king that hight Meliodas, and he was lord and king of the country of Liones, and this Meliodas was a likely knight as any was that time living. And by fortune he married King Mark's sister of Cornwall; and she was called Elizabeth, that was called both good and fair. And at that time King Arthur reigned, and he was whole king of England, Wales, and Scotland, and of many other realms: howbeit there were many kings that were lords of many countries, but all they held their lands of King Arthur; for in Wales were two kings, and in the north were many kings; and in Cornwall and in the west were two kings; also in Ireland were two or three kings, and all were under the obbeisance of King Arthur. So was the King of France, and the King of Brittany, and all the lordships unto Rome._

The start or Hermione's one hundred and fifty-fourth chapter marked February fourteen, the feast of Saint Valentine, patron saint of love. As usual, little of the day's natural warmth penetrated her skin. She was without love, at least of the kind so often expressed on that day, beyond the unrequited feelings that had become a familiar ache in her heart every time he forgot her birthday, every time his gifts at Christmas were strictly those of a friend, every time Valentine's Day passed and she couldn't muster the courage to say the three words that hold more combined power than any other sentence in the English language.

And this year, it seemed, was no different. He had not come to read with her this day. Somehow, leaving her alone on this day wounded her more than it had any of the other days he hadn't joined her. The hours dragged on, and Hermione's lethargic page-turning seemed to match them. Finally, after Madame Pince had ushered her out of the mercifully pink-free library, she returned to the tower.

And there he was; sitting on the couch right in front of the fire, a single red rose in his hand. As much as she tried to make herself believe it was for someone else, she could not deny that there was no one out and about at this time of night but her. And he knew it. His eyes were closed, and he was so still that only the slight rising and falling of his chest convinced him that he was, in fact, alive. Figuring that she had nothing to lose, since it seemed that everyone else in the tower knew of her secret feelings, she clambered onto the couch and curled under his arm, nestling her head into the crook of his shoulder. She picked the rose from the hand draped over her small frame, and sniffed it. It smelt plain, like vanilla and water, but it was so beautiful. She fell asleep quickly, the rose lodged firmly in her grasp, and did not notice the contented smile that formed on his face.

--

_And now leave we a while of Sir Ector and Sir Percivale, and speak we of Sir Lancelot that suffered and endured many sharp showers, and ever ran wild wood from place to place, and lived by fruit and such as he might get, and drank water two year; and other clothing had he but little but his shirt and his breeches. Thus as Sir Lancelot wandered here and there, he came in a fair meadow where he found a pavilion; and there by, upon a tree, there hung a white shield, and two swords hung thereby, and two spears leaned there by a tree. And when Sir Lancelot saw the swords, anon he leapt to the one sword, and took it in his hand, and drew it out. And then he lashed at the shield, that all the meadow rang of the dints, that he gave such a noise as ten knights had fourteen together._

By the time Hermione cracked open the three hundred and twenty-sixth chapter, March had been in like a lion and out like a lamb. This unfortunately left most people drenched by familiar April showers. One very pleasurable side effect of the unpredictable weather is that it drove Harry indoors. Gryffindor's Quidditch captain was not quite as fanatical as the infamous Oliver Wood, and did not force his team to practice during the worst of the storms. Because of this, and this is the pleasurable part, he spent far more time in the library with Hermione. Neither had spoken of what had passed between them on the morning of one February fifteenth, which was at once both depressing and uplifting in Hermione's eyes. Depressing because Harry didn't want to discuss the implication of waking up in such a potentially compromising situation, and uplifting because he didn't think it uncomfortable enough to dwell on.

Of course, the bad weather did have its downsides. One of the largest was, unfortunately, that the Slytherins were running out of ways to vent their general hatred of humanity. This drove many of them, Parkinson and Zabini chief among them, into the library to torment Gryffindor's resident Ravenclaw (an affectionate nickname Harry had come up with): the bookworm. Hermione could swear she had heard the word 'mudblood' more times in the previous week and a half then in all the years she had been at Hogwarts combined. The worst part was that Harry wasn't always there to defend her, so she resorted to the old standby she had developed in primary school: just ignore them, and try not to cry. She had the feeling that her tormenters never tore the book from her grasp only for fear of Madame Pince, who had become considerably more irritable as of late for no discernable reason.

Despite his occasional absences during the actual slinging of verbal abuse, Harry could always be counted on to show up moments after she had finally broken down when the Slytherins left. One would think she'd be used to the insults, but they dredged up far too many bad memories from her childhood. Regardless of that, there was always a broad shoulder to cry on when she needed it.

--

_So it befell in the month of May, Queen Guenever called unto her, knights of the Table Round; and she gave them warning that early upon the morrow she would ride on Maying into woods and fields beside Westminster. And I warn you that there be none of you but that he be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed in green, either in silk outher in cloth; and I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady behind him, and every knight shall have a squire and two yeomen; and I will that ye all be well horsed. So they made themselves ready in the freshest manner. And these were the names of the knights: Sir Kay le Seneschal, Sir Agravaine, Sir Brandiles, Sir Sagramore le Desirous, Sir Dodimas le Savage, Sir Ozanna le Cure Hardy, Sir Ladinas of the Forest Savage, Sir Persant of Inde, Sir Ironside that was called the Knight of the Red Lands, and Sir Pelleas the lover; and these ten knights made themselves ready in the freshest manner to ride with the queen. And so upon the morn they took their horses with the queen, and rode on Maying in woods and meadows as it pleased them, in great joy and delights; for the queen had cast to have been with King Arthur at the furthest by ten of the clock, and so was that time her purpose._

In the month of May, having completed four hundred and fifty-five chapters of her book, that a certain red-haired young man tried to slink back into her life. It started quite simply, with him just hanging around in the library, but as days went by he started to inch closer and closer. Harry spent a lot of time in the common room, studying at her behest, so he wasn't often around to scare the pseudo-stalker away. After almost two weeks of dragging it out, he finally approached. She didn't shoo him away only because he looked so utterly downtrodden; she couldn't bring herself to do it, even with the memory of his hateful words burning in her mind. He asked if he could sit, and she allowed him. They exchanged pleasantries, his voice very small and meek. She didn't notice him sidling his chair over, ever so cautiously, day by day. It took him another week, but he was finally sitting right next to her. She didn't pay any mind at first, chalking it up to him trying to slowly rebuild the level of intimacy only found between people who have together faced the indescribable.

A rough hand on her leg changed all of that.

She glanced down from her book at the rough and angular extremity resting on her knee, and followed its attached arm up to the face of the person who had once been one of her closest friends. He was looking directly at her. It struck her in the moment how uncomfortably close he was. She felt small. His face was getting closer, eyes shining with something implacable. She couldn't move a muscle, but her mind was screaming out for help. More than one plea was directed skywards, attached with a variation on the words 'God help me.'

Moments before he reached the point of no return, it became apparent that somebody upstairs was listening. Or else she was just lucky. The lecherous red-head was lifted bodily from her, and pressed forcibly against a wall. She could see nothing of her rescuer except for an untidy mop of black hair, but that was more than enough. She heard a growled voice from that direction, but could not make out any words. However, the youth she had once called 'friend' obviously had, and made it his business to leave the room as quickly as he possibly could.

Harry turned, and she saw cold fury burning in his eyes quickly being replaced with something…Other. It was alike to what had been in Ron's look, but at the same time it wasn't. This was deeper, more everlasting, and more meaningful. It conjured up images of great emptiness within great completeness; of utter loneliness in a crowd of people. And then it was gone.

--

_In May when every lusty heart flourisheth and bourgeoneth, for as the season is lusty to behold and comfortable, so man and woman rejoice and gladden of summer coming with his fresh flowers: for winter with his rough winds and blasts causeth a lusty man and woman to cower, and sit fast by the fire. So this season, as in the month of May, it befell a great anger and unhap that stinted not till the flower of chivalry of all the world was destroyed and slain; and all was long upon two unhappy knights, the which were named Agravaine and Sir Mordred, that were brethren of Sir Gawaine. For this Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred had ever a privy hate unto the queen Dame Guenever and to Sir Lancelot, and daily and knightly they ever watched upon Sir Lancelot._

Four hundred and sixty-eight began the month of June, with only one month to go until the final tests they would undertake at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry and Hermione were reading together, taking a break from studying that would have once left Ron baffled but unquestioning. Neither spoke, as was their custom, and their corner of the room was strangely isolated from the rest. Anyone who somehow managed to penetrate the protective wards put up to protect the occupants from the wrath of Slytherin house, or Ron, would find themselves somewhere cut off from the general Library. Not physically of course, but in mind and in sound. This is why only one person noticed when Hermione Granger fell to the floor.

She awoke to find herself on the ground, a green eyed and bespectacled face peering down at her with concern. But it was more than that; the Look was back: the one that was lonely in a throng, and looked like she was killing him and he was glad.

"What happened?" she mumbled. Her voice was low, rough, but she knew he had understood. But it didn't matter right then.

"I love you." He told her simply.

Those three words told her everything she needed to know, as if they were the missing pieces of a puzzle her brain had been desperately trying to solve. She knew what the Look meant, and what she had felt pressed against him on Valentine's Day, and why she had been so reviled with another hand on her body.

"I know." She responded, the dawn of comprehension breaking in her marvellous brain of brains.

"I love you to."

--

_Thus they kept Sir Lancelot's corpse on loft fifteen days, and then buried it with great devotion. And then with leisure they went all with the Bishop of Canterbury to his hermitage, and there they were together more than a month. Then Sir Constantine, that was Sir Cador's son of Cornwall, was chosen king of England. And he was a full noble knight, and worshipfully he ruled this realm. And then this King Constantine sent for the Bishop of Canterbury, for he heard say where he was. And so he was restored unto his Bishopric, and left that hermitage. And Sir Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end. Then Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Galahantine, Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamore, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiars le Valiant, Sir Clarrus of Clermont, all these knights drew them to their countries. Howbeit King Constantine would have had them with him, but they would not abide in this realm. And there they all lived in their countries as holy men. And some English books made mention that they went never out of England after the death of Sir Lancelot, but that was but a favour of the makers. For the French book maketh mention, and is authorised, that Sir Bors, Sir Ector, Sir Blamore, and Sir Bleoberis, went into the Holy Land thereas Jesu Christ was quick and dead, and anon they had established their lands. For the book saith so Sir Lancelot commanded them for to do, or ever he passes of this world. And these four knights did many battles upon the miscreants or Turks. And there they died upon a Good Friday for God's sake._

Excerpts from the journal of Hermione J. (Granger) Potter;

July 31, 2014 AD

It's been sixteen years, one to the day since the incident in the library, and they've been some of the best years of my life. I never would have imagined that teaching would be the job for me (Harry teases me about how I taught him more than any of the actual teachers did when we were at Hogwarts. I can't help but retaliate with the same), but it is. Getting to stay with my kids all year round is one of the most satisfying parts of my life, though I'm sure they wouldn't see it that way!

Today was our fourteenth wedding anniversary, and Harry just couldn't help reminding me it was the day we realized we were in love. As if I'd ever forget something as important as that!

Anyway, today we decided to take a walk around the lake. The twins joined us afterwards for a picnic. I couldn't believe that they weren't completely mortified at the thought of being seen with their parents in public. When I mentioned that, Harry countered by saying that no one could ever be embarrassed by being seen with such a beautiful woman. He got a kiss for that. Stephen and Rosie didn't make a single disgusted sound, which was more than a little confusing. How many twelve-year-olds enjoy seeing their parents kiss? When I asked what was going on, they just smirked at me. Harry took my hand and led me to the library.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw what he had done. In the furthest back corner, on the table that had unofficially become ours, was a little plaque made of solid ivory. It read 'Hermione's Table' in big block letters. And, in a smaller script underneath, the legend 'Where Harry Potter and Hermione Granger realised how stupid they both were, and finally fell in love.' And I hadn't even had the chance to give him my present yet.

Later:

I finally gave Harry my gift this evening, after we completed our annual 'ceremony' to consecrate our possession of each other (even though the 'ceremony' actually occurs about twice a day heh heh heh); I told him what I'd been waiting to reveal for a week now:

I'm pregnant.

--

_Ric jacet Arthurus Rex, quondam Rex que futurus_

March 31, 2015

Arthur Potter was born today. He has his father's eyes and my hair. Poor kid.

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It's not exactly when the doctor ordered, but I recently bought _le Morte d'Arthur_ and I couldn't resist incorporating it. The italics are all excerpts from the book, all of the starting one of the eight 'books' Malory had originally split it into (except for the last two, one of which is the last paragraph of the entire book and the other is the inscription that was allegedly carved over Arthur's grave). They're as close as I could approximate them, since I have a reprint of the 1485 edition where Malory's publisher divided it instead into twenty-one smaller books.

Hope you enjoyed it!


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